


my only vice (is standing by your side)

by daesunki



Series: sledgefu week 2019 [3]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sharing, [jenny nicholson voice] a numbered list, snafu gets used to the terrifying ordeal of being known, they Literally find love in a hopeless place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-27 03:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daesunki/pseuds/daesunki
Summary: Sledge is struggling with the flimsy can opener they each got in their pack, hands unused to the motion. Distantly, Snafu wonders if the boy ever had to open a can for himself. "Here," he says, and offers Sledge his already open can. "Trade ya."Sledge at least has the decency to quickly hide his surprise with gratitude as they switch cans. He looks down at his newly acquired meal with something akin to pride, and Snafu thinks that he wants to see him smile more.





	my only vice (is standing by your side)

**Author's Note:**

> (title taken from higher ground by odesza feat. naomi wild which is Such a sledgefu song)
> 
> this was written almost completely on a flight from vancouver to london and from london to tel aviv so. excuse any mistakes i was half dead and u can rly tell how tired i was around the middle kfjsgkldfghl

**1\. Cans**

There's something about Sledge that makes Snafu want to tease him to death. It's not like he's easy on any of the boots, far from it; but this boy is so painfully green, with his helmet fastened on just the right way under his chin even though they're nowhere near a battlefield, and that pale white skin with hints of leftover baby fat in his cheeks. 

Sometimes it takes just one look at a boot to see that he had the luxury of joining the Corp simply because he felt obligated to, because he wanted to help his country, and not because he had a family to feed with his allowance or because this was the only way for him to stay alive in the first place. Sledge fits that type to a degree that is almost laughable- everything about him screams rich white Southern boy with a bank manager for a father and a proper Southern housewife for a mother. With barely a glance, Snafu can predict his life story: big white house, a dog, maybe a horse bought as a birthday gift, a quiet, sheltered childhood in the rural South. And in the future, if he were to return home from this (and the guys like him rarely do, too desperate to die a glorious death for honor and country), a scholarship to a fancy college where he'll study something important like medicine or accounting, marry a good Southern girl, have kids, and die peacefully at a ripe old age.

Oh, yeah. Snafu is going to stick to him like a leech.

"They ain't gonna last a minute out there," he says when Jay takes pity on the boots and offers to take them to another tent. "Shit, I'd be surprised if they made it off the amtrak alive."

Burgie scoffs from where he's lying on his back on his rack, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. "Now, Snaf, what did I say about takin' it easy on the boots?" he says, barely putting effort into his scolding tone. He knows by now that once Snafu locked onto a target, it's almost impossible to dissuade him. "'Sides, if they die that fast, who d'you think'll operate the mortar with you? Jay and I ain't trained for that."

"I'll manage," Snafu drawls back, stretching and scratching at his sweaty stomach. The heat wasn't as bad inside the tents, where there's shade, but the lack of air flow made the humidity almost impossible to bare. If the fucking Japs don't get him, this piece of shit island will. "Bet I can shoot mortars by myself better than those two boots put together."

"I guess we'll see, then," is Burgie's mumbled reply before they lapse into comfortable silence.

And Snafu _does_ see a few hours later, when he's sitting on an idle tank and watching the boots scrub oil out of drums. The small rifleman who's name Snafu forgot the minute he heard it is getting angrier by the minute, his motions sharp and annoyed and his face turning red (from effort or anger, Snafu doesn't know, but both options amuse him). Oswalt, the other mortarman, is sending Snafu terse looks over his drum, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Snafu knows he has an unsettling effect, especially on boots, and he uses it to the best of his ability, drawling in his Louisiana accent, drawing the words out until they might sound like molasses to the untrained ear.

He's surprised to find himself disappointed to see that his affect on Sledge is minimal at best. After he admitted (using his most infuriating smile) that he wasn't even supposed to watch over them at all, Sledge just ignores him completely. He works with the single minded determination of someone who's entirely devoted to the task at hand, and nothing else, scrubbing at the oil stained metal until the back of his thin white shirt is soaked with sweat to the point of being see through. Snafu watches his rust-red hair shine copper in the sunlight, and the rapidly reddening nape of his neck (Sledge's pale ass never stood a chance in the Pavuvu sun), and finds that he doesn't mind the view. Not one bit.

There's no point in doing anything about it, though, because pretty soon they're being shipped off to yet another godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere to fight for their lives in the blinding hot sun. 

"I don't smoke," Sledge says when Snafu offers him a cigarette, and Snafu catches the glint of a silver cross around his neck and smiles. Of course he is.

He makes sure to puke on Sledge's boots before they start moving, just to lay on the charm extra thick. It doesn't matter, anyway; soon they'll be covered in sand and mud and blood and it won't make a difference, and Snafu didn't have any hopes for any of the boots to get off the beach in the first place. The vaguely scandalized look on Sledge's face is still worth it.

To Snafu's and Jay's surprise, all of the boots make it off the beach in one piece. Snafu knows that Burgie's pleased by this turn of events; hopeful bastard always believes in everyone. The tiny rifleman ( _Leyden_ , he has to remember now) is the most rattled, heaving his meager breakfast out the side of his foxhole as soon as they're settled. Oswalt is quiet, staring out into the airfield as if it's gonna get up and attack him itself. Sledge looked appropriately spooked when they first made camp, but has seemed to mellow out into a weirdly chipper mood by the time Ack-Ack and Hillbilly come by to brief them.

"Lilliputian?" Snafu questions, the word whistling strangely in his mouth. He was just about to eat his late lunch, a miserable can of meat he hacked open with his kabar. In front of him, Sledge is struggling with the flimsy can opener they each got in their pack, hands unused to the motion. Distantly, Snafu wonders if the boy ever had to open a can for himself.

"Hard for the Japs to say," Sledge suggests. Then, with a slight chuckle, adds, "hard for _me_ to say."

Snafu looks at him, with his too-big helmet, and his dirt-streaked face, and his smile; a sheepish smile, with sharp canines behind those lips. Snafu looks at him and thinks that maybe he was wrong to treat him like the other boots he met before. Seeing him smiling and making jokes right after his first battle, with his uniform dirty and bloody and his face covered in little cuts, awakens a sort of begrudging respect in Snafu.

"Here," he says, and offers Sledge his already open can. "Trade ya."

Sledge at least has the decency to quickly hide his surprise with gratitude as they switch cans. He looks down at his newly acquired meal with something akin to pride, and Snafu thinks that he wants to see him smile more.

 

**2\. Cigarettes**

"Ain't s'pposed to write shit down, y'know," Snafu informs Sledge the morning after he saved his life. "Gives the Japs valuable intel if they find it."

There's a quiet beat. "Guess I won't show it to 'em, then," Sledge says lightly, glancing at him and grinning in a way that makes it obvious that he knew it was gonna make Snafu laugh. And he does laugh, an exhale that feels like it was punched out of him with how surprised he is. He bites his lip to keep his smile from growing too big, though he can tell it's too late. He probably looks like and idiot, but _damn_ , he doesn't care. This guy's _good_.

They walk in silence for a few more seconds while Snafu tries to make sense of the warm feeling in his chest. It feels like someone poured honey into his lungs, but instead of choking on it, it flows in and out of his throat like air does. He's felt that way before, back in New Orleans, with a few boys he knew, but this time it's different, stronger. It feels real. One side of him is panicking; this is a bad place for this, a bad place and a bad time when any of them can die at any minute, but the other side of him feels strangely calm, like this is something that was supposed to happen and that he has no control over this. 

The calm side wins, somehow. "Got a smoke?" he asks, knowing damn well that Sledge started smoking ever since he had that first puff that Snafu gave him before the airfield. He can't help but feel proud and somewhat possessive when Sledge hands him a cigarette. He gave him his first; this is something they share, something theirs. That thought curls honey-sweet in his chest when he says, as nonchalantly as possible, "thanks, Sledgehammer."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sledge's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He very pointedly continues to look forward, trying to keep the pleased smile off his face and largely succeeding.

"Sledgehammer," Burgie evaluates up front. He turns around and looks Snafu in the eye. "I like that," he says softly, his honest eyes warm. Snafu knows that he's trying to express his approval of Snafu like this, open and welcoming. Snafu sends him a tiny smile and shoots a look at Sledge, whose face looks suspiciously red under the dirt. He's keeping his eyes on the ground, but it's hard to miss the smile on his face.

 

**3\. Foxholes**

It finally rains on Peleliu the night Bill Leyden gets hit. Sledge has been sitting in the same position ever since they finished digging their foxhole for the night, curled into himself in his soaking poncho and helmet. He doesn't say anything, except for when he asks Ack-Ack if he heard any news on Bill, and even then his voice is weak. Snafu's always been bad at comforting others, even when he genuinely wants to help, like he does now. He doesn't know what to do or say to make Sledge feel better, to make that vacant look in his eyes go away, but he wants to do _something_.

Burgie's off to an NCO briefing and Jay's on watch when Snafu decides to try his best. He sits down next to Sledge, close enough that their shoulders are almost touching through their ponchos, and taps his hands together uselessly. Sledge, for his part, doesn't seem to notice his presence at all, keeps staring straight ahead through the thick rain. It's at times like these that Snafu really, _really_ wishes he was good at this kind of thing. He wishes he could be like Ack-Ack and pull an inspirational speech out of his sleeve, or have Burgie's genuine will to help with no other motive. Hell, even Jay knows how to lighten the mood with a well placed joke. He has none of these abilities, but just for Sledge, he wants to try.

"Eugene?" he tries, the name feeling unfamiliar and unearned on his tongue. He's never called Sledge by his first name before, and wonders if he was out of line for doing so.

Sledge speaks before he can worry about it too much, though. "They were in boot camp with me," he says, voice sounding exhausted and barely loud enough to be heard over the rain. "Oswalt and Leyden. I'm the only one left."

"That's not true," Snafu tries, feeling half-wild with the need to see Sledge smile again. "You heard the Skipper. Leyden'll be back to annoy the shit out of you and complain about everything in no time."

That gets the barest hint of a smile out of him, one corner of his mouth quirking up weakly. Snafu just about feels like he did something right for once when Sledge says, "Oswalt didn't deserve it."

 _None of them did_ , almost leaves Snafu's mouth, but he stops himself at the last second. He knows it won't be helpful, and Sledge is talking about a very specific pain that he knows nothing about. Shit, he barely even _knew_ Oswalt, and in the few times he spoke to him he was rude and intimidating. He has no right to say anything.

But. Oswalt died because he waited for them. Maybe he was waiting for Sledge specifically, but Sledge was carrying Snafu. If he hadn't looked back and stopped, he would still be here. That, more than anything, tells Snafu something about his character. He can't help but feel grateful, and immensely sorry. "No," he agrees quietly. "He didn't."

The rain fills in the silence for the next few minutes, its constant downpour forming a screen of white noise that fills Snafu's brain with blessed silence. It's been a hell of a day, and tomorrow they'll have to carry stretchers and transport the dead and the wounded behind the line, but for now he's perfectly happy thinking of nothing and feeling the warmth radiating from Sledge next to him. 

Sledge sighs suddenly, a sigh so deep it sounds like it came from his very soul. "God, I'm tired," he mumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. He turns to look at Snafu, expression hesitant and sheepish. He can't really tell in the darkness, but Snafu thinks he might be blushing. "Can I. Lean on you?" he asks, voice small.

That same honey warm feeling comes crushing back into him with a force that actually makes Snafu's breath hitch. He wills himself to calm down, shooting him an easy smile. "If you don't mind my bony ass shoulders, Sledgehammer," he says, completely surprised by how normal he sounds.

Sledge snorts. "After sleeping on rocks for the past two weeks, I think I can manage," he assures him.

"Then I'm all yours, boo," Snafu says, opening his arms wide and leaning back against the rocky wall of their foxhole. Sledge rolls his eyes but shuffles nearer, arranging himself so he's tucked under Snafu's left arm, head on his shoulder. It's nice, _really_ nice, to feel close to someone after all this time, and Snafu wonders if it'll be too much for him to wrap his arms around Sledge, then wisely decides against it. He rests his hand on Sledge's back as a compromise, and lets himself relax when no protest comes.

The white noise of the rain is beginning to lull him to sleep when Sledge says, "Don't call me 'boo'." He sounds half asleep, syllables slurring together, and Snafu smiles.

"Whatever you say, cher," he slurs back, but Sledge is already asleep and doesn't hear it.

(They sleep like that every night from then on.)

 

**4\. Cots**

Being back on Pavuvu feels like heaven after the hell that was Peleliu. Being able to take a shower, go for a swim, or just nap whenever he feels like it is a luxury Snafu will never take for granted again. Sleeping in an actual cot, no matter how thin or lumpy, feels like an actual dream after the rocks and coral of Peleliu, and Snafu takes full advantage of it. Eugene does, too- it seems like when he's not on some assignment or eating, he's sleeping.

Ever since they started sleeping together in their foxholes, they found that they both sleep better together. For Snafu's part, the steady beating and rise and fall of Eugene's chest calmed him so much better than any alcohol or pill. The presence of another body next to him anchored him to his body, made it easier to drift off when his mind refused to shut down after weeks of light sleep out in the field. It sure helped that Eugene smelled nice after a shower, smelling of soap and sea breeze.

If Burgie finds it weird or unfitting, he doesn't say a single word about it, which Snafu appreciates. Jay didn't make any remark as well up until he got reassigned to Intelligence and stopped sharing the tent with them. It feels empty and quieter without him and with Burgie away on some inane NCO task or another for most of the day, but the Eugene's constant presence distracts him. Quietly, with the redhead's head on his shoulder and their legs tangled together, Snafu falls asleep.

 

**5\. Secrets**

"Where'd 'Snafu' come from?" Eugene asks on one of those stretchy Pavuvu afternoons. They're lying down in his cot, shirtless against the heat that just won't dissipate, even with the occasional cool breeze that manages to sneak in through the wide-open tent flaps. Snafu has his head on Eugene's chest, and he looks up at him when he speaks, at his mud-green eyes and the pink of sunburn sweet across his freckled nose bridge. His chest is so full of that honey warm feeling, that he's sure that if he opened his mouth, honey would come spilling right out. "The name, I mean, not where you come from," Eugene clarifies, looking uncharacteristically shy.

Snafu's honestly surprised it took him this long to ask. "Can't you tell I'm all fucked up, Sledgehammer?" he asks, grunting a little as he props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at him. "Thought you could tell from the moment you looked at me."

That earns him a frown from the redhead, his brow drawing together and the corners of his lips turning down. "Wouldn't call it 'fucked up'. A little mean, maybe."

"I do take pride in my job," Snafu jokes with a hand on his chest, bowing his head mockingly. Eugene rolls his eyes with a small smile.

"Okay, then," he relents. "Then what were you called _before _you were Snafu?"__

____

____

"Damn, boy, can't you read? It's right there on my dog tags," Snafu says, tugging at the metal around his neck until he's dangling them right in front of Sledge's face, who goes cross-eyed trying to read them. Eventually he grabs them and holds them at a more reasonable distance.

"Shelton, Merriel," he reads, and Snafu finds that he's nervous. He always felt a little self-conscious about his name, had often been teased about it by people who thought it didn't sound "manly enough", whatever the fuck that meant. Getting in the Marines and being given a nickname did him a great service in that regard, especially since no one dared to question him with a nickname like Snafu. Eugene knowing his name made him feel vulnerable, exposed to his criticism and scrutiny. Maybe he'll decide he doesn't like it, either. Maybe he'll like Snafu less because of it. He didn't care when others made fun of him, but Eugene's so far under his skin that it feels like just a single negative word from him would tear him apart.

He doesn't think he can handle Eugene liking him less.

In the end, though, Snafu watches as a slow smile spreads on Eugene's face, small, pleasant, his eyes still on the metal disk. "Merriel," he repeats quietly to himself, then looks at Snafu. There's something gentle in his eyes that makes Snafu want to bury his face in his neck and never let go on the one hand, and walk into the sea on the other. It feels like with this one look, Eugene stripped him naked told him he accepted him in his entirety, personality, scars, and all. He feels _seen_ , and it both scares and delights him. "I like it."

Snafu's mouth is dry when he speaks. "Yeah?" he asks, hating how nervous he sounds. He fiddles with his chain, his eyes darting between his fingers and Eugene's sweet, dear face.

"I do." his voice sounds so _honest_. Something deep inside Snafu seems to shudder and awaken, something fierce, and desperate, and unshakably loyal. That honey sweet feeling is filling every single cell in his body. Briefly, wildly, Snafu thinks he'd follow this boy into hell. "It sounds lyrical. Like a poem."

 _Damn him_. Snafu plops down with his head back on his chest, just so he can hide his face. He doesn't want Eugene to see how affected he is by something this stupid, heart beating fast as he tugs his dog tags back. "Thanks." Then, just to take the attention off of himself, he adds, "now tell me somethin' I don't know 'bout you. Only fair."

Eugene hums in thought, one of his hands ending up in Snafu's hair. That fierce new _something_ in Snafu sings with his touch, and Snafu shuts his eyes tight, chest aching. A welcome breeze rushes in, bringing the smells and sounds of the camp with it; the rotten coconuts, the sea, the men walking around in their heavy boots. In the distance, he hears guns firing in a steady beat, probably from the shooting range. He _knows_ this is a bad place for these feelings. Knows they could get killed, that their future is shaky at best, that Eugene probably won't return his feelings, and even if he does, that there will be hell to pay if they get caught.

But he still _wants_. And Snafu's always been bad at denying himself what he wants.

"Okay," Eugene says suddenly, snapping him back to the moment. "The reason I joined the Marines so late was because I have a heart condition. Or," he corrects himself as Snafu looks up at him in shock, " _used_ to have a heart condition. It's gone now."

For once, Snafu actually doesn't know what to say. Eugene didn't _look_ sick when they first met, nor does he look sick now, but he guesses you can't really see the effects of a heart condition on the outside, anyway. The knowledge still makes him worried for some stupid reason, even though Eugene said it's gone; just _knowing_ he used to be ill makes Snafu feels uneasy and protective in a way he isn't quite used to. The closest he got to feeling this way was when Burgie got shot in the shoulder in Guadalcanal, but it doesn't compare to this, this sickly feeling in his stomach.

"Eugene," he starts, and then runs out on ways to finish that sentiment. He doesn't want Eugene to think he pities him, because he doesn't, and he also doesn't want him to feel like Snafu thinks he's weak, because that couldn't be further from the truth.

Eugene seems to read his mind, because he smiles at him reassuringly. "I don't have it anymore. I'm all better now. Here, listen," he says as he pulls Snafu back to lay his ear on his bare chest, close to his heart. "It's beating just fine now."

So Snafu listens. With Eugene's fingers combing through his hair, Snafu lies down and calms down to the sure and steady beat of his heart.

 

**6\. Lies**

"Lotsa people fired mortars up here."

"Yeah."

 

**7\. Comfort**

Okinawa makes Eugene harder, grittier, angrier. He snaps at everyone and everything, has less patience with the boots, and smokes his pipe sullenly. Snafu used to be the only one who was able to calm him down, excluding Burgie and Leyden when he returned from the hospital. That ends the night of Hamm's death with them screaming at each other through the never ending rain, and never quite goes back to the way it was.

Snafu _misses_ him. Misses the easy back and forth they had, before, on Pavuvu and even some of Peleliu. Misses the way he'd tuck his head beneath Snafu's chin when he went to sleep. Misses the way he'd smile at him during breaks or idle moments, those sharp canines flashing. He was all sharp teeth and no smile these days, and the _something_ that woke up in Pavuvu sits, cold and lonely, in Snafu's gut, wondering what he did wrong.

Then there's another change. Eugene comes out of that hut looking like his world got turned upside down, like someone swept the rug straight from under his feet, pale in the face and hands shaky around his rifle. He doesn't look Snafu in the eye when he asks him if he found anything, and scurries off with some weak excuse. Snafu watches as he points his rifle at a Japanese boy, then lowers it, shoulders slumping in some sort of resolve.

Later, when the boy's blood covers the wall and Eugene's sitting with his back to it and his head in his hands, Snafu quietly sits down next to him and puts his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Eugene slumps against him like he doesn't have the strength to hold himself anymore, and Snafu presses his forehead against the side of Eugene's helmet and wants to kiss his temple, his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips, anywhere that will make the tears paving clean lines down his dirty cheeks stop.

"I'm sorry," Eugene whispers, voice thick. Snafu wants to kill those over-eager boots where they stand, white-hot anger quick and familiar in his chest. "I'm just so tired of this fucking war."

Snafu just pulls him closer, closing his eyes. "I know. It's okay."

They sit like that until it's time to move on.

 

**8\. Kisses**

They win, and it both feels like it and not at all. The three of them sit on the rocks facing the ocean and pass a bottle of alcohol between them in silence while the party goes on behind them, unnoticed. Snafu closes his eyes and, with the help of the whiskey, tries not to think about anything at all; not the war, what he's done, what he's _going_ to do now that this is over. Burgie gets called over to the NCO tent, leaving with a good night and a warning to Snafu to watch his liquor. They wave him off and continue to sit in their pocket of quiet where the only thing that exists is the crashing of the waves, the smell of tobacco, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol flowing in their veins.

Eventually, Snafu slides off his rock, eyelids heavy and his butt cold and numb from sitting on a hard surface for so long. He looks at Eugene, who slides down off his rock as well, landing on the sand with wobbly feet. Snafu catches his elbow to steady him, and then doesn't let go.

"We won," he says simply, eyes locked onto Eugene's mud-green ones. The redhead looks at him, gaze unwavering, and the honey sweet feeling overflows in Snafu. He finds that he can't take his eyes off him, can barely even blink. He steps closer, placing his hands on Eugene's waist.

It's weird, how calm he is when he leans in, despite the wild beating of his heart in his chest. He pauses just a second before contact, his nose brushing Eugene's long one, their breath intermingling. "Gene," he whispers, barely audible above the sound of the waves just a few meters ahead. He wants to give Eugene a chance to back off, to say that he doesn't want this, to shove him off and walk away. He's almost sure that he will, somehow.

He doesn't. Instead, he slides his hands up Snafu's arms, his neck, to cup his face. Snafu's eyes slide closed without him even noticing, the want building enough to make him shake. Eugene leans his forehead against his, thumbs stroking across Snafu's cheekbones. "Merriel," he whispers back, and Snafu shakes harder as Eugene pulls him in, closing that final distance between them. He kisses him hard, deep, desperate, tasting like alcohol and tobacco and, funnily enough, honey; like all of that sweetness Snafu had built up finally spilled over into him. Snafu whines, a noise in the back of his throat that gets snatched up by the breeze, leaning into Eugene hard enough to almost topple him over, back bending backwards.

Eugene kisses him like he's precious, like he ended this war himself, like he's been thinking about this as much as Snafu did. Passionate, and wanting, and like he means it. His hands slide into his hair, cradling the back of his head and pulling him closer when they break apart, gasping for air and giddy.

"Gene," Snafu says again. His arms tighten around his waist, wanting to pull him closer even though that's virtually impossible. That something inside of him is singing, pounding with the love he cultivated this entire time, and he wants to tell him, wants to let it spill out, but Eugene stops him with a kiss, honey sweet and short.

"I know, Merriell," he says when he pulls back, letting their foreheads connect again. "I know. Me too."

So Snafu kisses him. The fireworks go off over the Pacific.

**Author's Note:**

> i wont be doing any of tomorrows prompts, and day five is still a wip (lmao) so ill see u when i see u ig
> 
> i also finally caved and made a pacific sideblog. its brand new (as in, i literally made it today) so its empty as all fuck but now u can find me @hoosierbi on tumblr if thats the kinda stuff that butters your eggroll ♥


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